


Mind Games

by chagrintrovert



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chagrintrovert/pseuds/chagrintrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Loki, attempting to gather information on “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,” disguises himself as a psychologist and gets hired to work in the new Avengers Base, but he gets more than he bargained for when Wanda comes to see him.</p>
<p>Written for SSS Medic!Tom prompt on tumblr.</p>
<p>**I claim no ownership over the characters depicted in this work**</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Games

“Alright, enough. You’re not focused, Wanda, what is going on?” Natasha stopped blocking Wanda’s half-hearted punches and stared her down. “We’ve been at this for hours and you haven’t hit me once. I’m calling your superior officer.”

“No!” Wanda grabbed for Natasha’s phone, but the shorter, more limber woman easily held it out of reach. “Please don’t bother Clint with this. I- I can get it together.”

Stepping back, Natasha slid her phone into her back pocket. With a skeptical expression that said what she was about to do went against her better judgment, she nodded. “Okay. But you have to go see that new therapist. I think you need to talk to someone about your brother. If you don’t at least make an appointment today, I’m calling Barton.”

Wanda offered a brief chagrined nod and turned to walk across the grey training mat, pulling her padded gloves off along the way. In the locker room, she changed from her training gear back into her black skater dress and combat boots, yanked free the elastic band that held her long hair in a high ponytail, and leaned her forehead against the cool steel of her locker. After a few deep breaths and a resigned sigh, she slung her red leather jacket over her arm and marched out the door, stoically taking a left down the hall that lead to the new therapist’s office.

Standing outside the rich wooden door, Wanda focused on the golden name plate screwed into it, thinking that beyond that door things would get very personal between herself and one Dr. Luke Lawson, Psy. D. Lost in an inner dialogue of voices debating whether she should turn the knob or just tuck tail and run, Wanda failed to hear the muffled shuffling of black leather Oxfords on the industrial grey carpet in the hallway. A light tap on her shoulder made her jump and turn with one raised hand enveloped in glowing red swirls of energy. The man, unphased by her near attack and now disheveled hair, flashed a friendly smile that ignited in his eyes a hint of mischief. He sipped steaming tea from a styrofoam cup as he motioned for her to open the door and enter his office. Once inside, Wanda stood awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure of whether to sit on the black leather sofa or lie on the black chaise in the corner as she’d seen people do in movies. Dr. Lawson, apparently charmed by her awkwardness, smiled again and ran a hand through the deliberately mussed brown curls atop his head. Rounding his desk, he sat his cup down and began to roll the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows. He spoke with a clear, comforting voice tinged with an accent that Wanda wasn’t quite able to place.

“You can sit anywhere you like. Your comfort is key here, Miss…?” He looked at her expectantly.

“Maximoff.”

“Ah. Wanda Maximoff. Lovely to finally make your acquaintance. How can I help you today?”

Choosing to timidly perch on the arm of the sofa, Wanda folded her jacket in her lap and spoke softly. “Agent Romanoff sent me here to make an appointment. I need, um… I suppose you would call it grief counseling.”

With an understanding nod, the doctor stood and strode across the room. Wanda pretended not to notice the way his black pants hugged his long legs and tight ass or the sinewy rippling of his back and shoulder muscles under the thin material of his shirt. With deft fingers, he flipped the sign in the hall from “Available” to “In Session” and closed the door with a faint click.

“You’re in luck, Miss Maximoff. I happen to be free all afternoon.” As he sauntered back, he plucked a notepad and an expensive looking gold fountain pen from his desk and sat gracefully on the sofa, splaying his legs wide and patting the cushion beside him. “Please, join me. We’ll get the paperwork out of the way so we can delve into the core of what’s troubling you.”

As if unable to deny his request, Wanda moved, plopping obediently onto the indicated cushion with one knee casually tucked beneath her. She laid her jacket over the backrest and leaned into the corner of the comfortable down-stuffed sofa. Picking at the flaking skin around the nails she’d been anxiously biting of late, she answered his routine questions.

“So, Wanda, I presume you’re here to learn how to cope with the loss of your brother, yes?”

She nodded.

“And you are here under orders from your superior officer?”

“No. Agent Barton doesn’t know I’m here. Agent Romanoff sent me.”

“I assume your grief is affecting your performance.”

“I can’t focus. I don’t have the energy to dedicate myself to the job. I just…I don’t really care about anything.”

“That’s understandable. You’ve suffered a great loss.”

She looked at him with vaguely surprised appreciation. “Yeah. Everyone expects me to be over it. But he was my twin, we’ve always been together. I don’t know how to live without him.” Tears glossed her eyes and she looked away, staring at nothing and everything at once. Taking a deep, stuttered breath, she whispered an embarrassed, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright.” Dr. Lawson handed her a green tissue box from the end table. “I know all too well what it’s like to feel completely alone. I, too, have lost my family.”

Wanda tugged a tissue from the proffered box, noting his long fingers as she dabbed her tears, carefully avoiding smearing the kohl smudged around her eyes. “Was your family as tall as you?”

He licked his lips into a smile that said he knew she was deflecting and reached across himself to replace the tissue box on the table along with his pen and notepad before turning his attention back to her. For a long moment he studied her, as if trying to determine whether she was worthy of knowing some depraved secret or perhaps hearing the details to a convoluted, evil stratagem for world domination. Apparently deciding she was trustworthy, or perhaps in a mere effort to establish doctor-patient rapport, he turned to face her straight on and spoke with the heavy heart of someone living a truly regretful life. “I was adopted. My biological father was much taller than I, but he passed away some time ago.”

“Oh. And your adoptive family?”

He leaned against the armrest, looking a bit deflated though he seemed to be meticulously selecting his next words. “My mother was an elegant and compassionate woman. She was murdered in our family home. My father, for whom I was a constant disappointment, was so distraught after her death that he vanished, as if into thin air. We haven’t seen him since, though I fully believe him to be alive and well. As for my elder brother, we are… estranged… to say the very least.”

Wanda bowed her head, watching little white tufts flutter to her lap as she absently ripped her tissue to pieces. “I know it’s not my place to give you advice, but you should really patch things up with your brother. Before he’s gone for good and you never get the chance to tell him how much he meant to you.”

Leaning forward, Dr. Lawson reached for her hand, easily encasing it with his cool, nimble fingers. “He and I will meet again soon enough, I am most certain.” His smile seemed to reflect a sort of warning before sliding back into compassionate attentiveness. “Now, tell me about your brother.”

Wanda recounted her past to her enthralled listener, weaving scene after scene of Pietro’s endless shenanigans, bitingly sarcastic quips, overprotective notions, and hilariously flawed romantic endeavors into the tragic story of her life. Her parents’ death drew tears from her eyes, a well of unbearable sadness and too-quickly fading memories. She told him about the riots embroiled in the war, the constant protests and blood splattering violence in the streets, the grey day on which she and her brother were recruited for an experiment that was supposed to bring peace to their home. She described her time in a glass cage, being poked and prodded and monitored in the name of science at the hands of men who wore saccharine smiles to hide their nefarious ambitions; the doctor empathized, offering a short account of his own brief incarcerations. Speaking with reserved concentration, Wanda brought to light the horror of the battle with Ultron - the thousands of militant robotic minions swinging iron fists and shooting flesh-melting energy blasts at innocent people desperately trying to survive the day. How six brave foreigners blasted their way into her country and fought with everything they had to save not only the people amongst whom she’d lived her whole life, but the rest of the world as well. She recalled Pietro’s position on joining these dauntless soldiers because he saw in them something to emulate, something he was willing to give his life to protect. Tears streamed down her face in torrents as she told him about Pietro’s death, the sacrifice he made so that Hawkeye could survive and return a terrified child to his frantic mother.

“I felt it. From over a mile away, I felt him die. It felt like my soul was ripped in half and the pieces were set on fire, like nothing in the world mattered anymore because half of my being ceased to exist.” She told him about her fear of being unable to control her new powers under such emotional distress, being too consumed with grief to commit herself to being an Avenger, getting someone killed because she was reckless. She wanted to make her brother proud, ridiculous as it was, and she didn’t think she could.

Dr. Lawson replied with a similar story of powerful, all but forgotten enemies invading his home, slaughtering his peers and neighbors, freeing dangerous prisoners, and destroying prominent and sacred parts of the city. He told her about having to sit back and watch the chaos from a cell, learning about his mother’s murder, and blaming himself for her death. Too proud to cry, he seemed to grow more agitated and vicious as he remembered being locked away during her funeral, knowing it was his actions that sentenced him to the cell, but feeling slighted all the same. He stared into Wanda wearing an impassive mask that he’d carefully constructed over the years to protect himself as he told her about his final meeting with his mother. “The last thing I ever said to her was that she wasn’t my mother. I broke her heart.”

Wanda found herself sitting closer to him, holding each of his hands in her own before she’d even noticed that she’d moved. She had never met someone so like herself or who had experienced horrors so similar to those that still haunted her at night. He had looked so young talking about his mother, so sad and alone. She knew the pain of losing the one person you never thought you’d have to be without and it wrenched her heart to see such a kindred spirit suffering. She tilted her head to look into his eyes and asked him the most obvious question.

“Do you have any vodka?”

After chasing their demons with a handle of vodka, relishing in the soothing burn in their throats and chests, and laughing for the first time in what they both considered far too long, Wanda’s face lit up with the delight of an idea. She jumped up from her new seat on the floor and held her hands at slight angles near her hips and lifted them out from her body, using her powers to move the sofa and coffee table apart. Luke, as she now called him, watched her with rapt attention as she then crossed the room and flirtatiously bent over to turn on his stereo. She leaned on her elbow and shifted her weight from knee to knee while she flipped through the stations until she found one that played soft jazz. She turned up the volume and stood, peering over her shoulder with a coy smile, and sashayed back to him on the tip-toes of her bare feet. Taking her outstretched hand, he let her pull him to his feet and lead him to the center of the space she’d cleared. She kept his left hand locked in her right and placed his other hand on her waist as she swayed, slightly off beat, from side to side. She rested her head against his chest and he closed his eyes in strange but not unwelcome contentment as he held her close.

After a few moments, Wanda’s muffled whisper cut through a complex score of intimate piano notes, sensual saxophone peals, and the thick reverberations of a double bass. Her words melted into his skin through his shirt. “I know what would make me feel better.”

She felt his voice before she heard it. It rumbled up from the center of his chest, the vibrations tickling her ear and sending a wave of chills racing down her spine.

“And what’s that, love?”

“To kiss a god. Do you happen to know any?”

He continued to sway, but she heard and felt the hitch in his heartbeat. He knew she knew. “Perhaps.” He lifted his hand so she could spin under it, watching her skirt blossom around her hips. Tugging her back toward himself, he looked into her eyes as he twirled her into a low dip and held her there. “But I don’t think you’d like him very much. No one does.”

Almost serenely accepting his bait, she gently placed her hand on the side of his face and traced his bottom lip with her thumb. “I think I’ll like him more than you think.”

Pulling him closer, she tentatively pressed her lips to his. He returned her kiss with fervor, with a passion that Wanda hadn’t expected. She’d known there was chemistry between them and a level of understanding that neither of them had ever shared with anyone else. But this desperation, the way he clung to her, enveloped her in his embrace, was more intense than anything she’d ever experienced before. She could taste the sharp burn of the vodka and the sweet bitterness of his tea on his tongue. His hands held her possessively, supporting her back with unyielding strength and tangling into her hair. His lips traveled across her jaw and down her throat as her head fell back in pleasure. He inhaled the smoky spice of her perfume and the heady scent of her sweat from training, nuzzled her breasts and grazed his teeth in gentle bites over her nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks beneath the black cotton of her dress. With a wave of his hand it was gone, her modesty only spared by the black lace panties she happened to wear that day.

A coquettish giggle escaped her as he scooped her up and walked over to the corner chaise. He laid her on the cool leather and goose flesh erupted over her skin. She bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together as he stared down at her, all business as he unbuttoned his shirt. Wanda rolled to her knees and used just the tips of her fingers to push the delicate white fabric off his shoulders. She trailed her fingers across his shoulders and down his chest and stomach, smiling up at his hooded eyes when she reached his belt. She made quick work of it and palmed his impressive erection through his trousers, earning herself a barely contained growl and a tight grip around her wrist. She met his challenge with another firm squeeze and reveled in the dangerous sensuality he exuded. She flipped the button through its hole with her free hand and leaned forward to kiss and nip the taut flesh of his abdomen as she pulled his zipper down.

He released her wrist and pushed down the waistband of his pants. His erection sprang free as the material slipped over his hips and pooled on the floor. Wanda slid her hands over his stomach, traced the v-shaped hollow of his hips, and reverently wrapped her fingers around his girth. His hips lurched forward and she shot him a proud smirk as she began to pump her wrist. Tilting her chin up with two long fingers, he bent down to kiss her again, teasing her tongue with his between blissful pants and stuttered breaths. She pulled away and trailed kisses across his pale skin, pausing briefly to flick her tongue over the weeping tip of his cock before drawing him into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around him, drawing his length into her throat and burying her face in the soft black curls at the base of his cock. He weaved his fingers into her hair as she withdrew, eliciting from him a soft moan that tumbled from his lips. Again and again she bobbed her head, massaging his balls and stroking just behind them while he bucked into her mouth. His movements became erratic and she pulled away with a pop.

She found his hand and folded her fingers between his, pulling him to sit on the chaise. He leaned her back and left wet kisses on her belly, licking and tasting his way to her breasts. He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and nipped and suckled the other while two fingers on his other hand slipped easily between her slick folds. His fingers were so long. He could reach the deepest parts of her, press firmly in all the right places. He curled them against her sweet spot and he circled her clit with his thumb, careful not to apply direct pressure just yet. He followed his earlier path of kisses and bit the inside of her thigh as he grinned up at her wickedly and dragged his tongue over her shaven slit. He continued to curl and pump his fingers inside her and began flicking the sinful tip of his tongue over her swollen bud. Her back arched and both of her hands flew to the back of his head as she rolled her hips into his carnal ministrations. He pursed his lips around her clit and sucked, pulling from her a guttural moan as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed into her.

He crawled up her body, licking his lips like a hungry wolf and flashing a predatory smile that she found strangely comforting. She pulled him toward her and kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip and dragging her teeth over it in a playful bite. He bucked his hips a few times, sliding the thick vein on the underside of his cock between her swollen lips and clit. He reached between them to align himself with her entrance and kissed her jaw before whispering in her ear, “Say my name.”

Arching into him, her nipples brushed against his chest and she wrapped one knee around his waist. Her voice was carried by raspy breath as she whispered back, “Loki.”

His name had barely escaped her lips when he pushed fully into her with one fluid thrust of his hips. She dug her fingernails into his back and tilted her head to capture his lips with hers. She felt the bruises forming under her skin where his fingers grasped under her raised knee. He began to move, filling her more completely with each rhythmic roll of his hips. They both looked at the place where they joined, mesmerized by the way her arousal glistened on his cock and the building pleasure they chased together. She looked up at him and watched his lips part as his breath became more ragged. He met her eyes and bit his lip as he pumped harder into her, rolling his hips in exaggerated motions, pushing into her further and further and grinding against her clit with each delicious thrust. She scratched down his back and squeezed his ass, meeting his thrusts with her own. She felt the tension building in her belly as their breathing turned into moans and growls that were only just human. He rutted against her like an animal, uncontrolled and free of inhibitions. Nothing mattered apart from the release. She clawed at him, marked him as hers. She screamed his name with eyes squeezed tightly shut and bruised lips that begged him harder, harder, more. He swallowed her pleas with sweaty kisses and pumped his hips faster, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Her orgasm exploded within her, radiating throughout her body and momentarily blinding her as her mouth opened in a silent scream. With her inner walls tightening around him, Loki’s thrusts became erratic and he pressed into her, filling her with the powerful spurts of his release.

Loki rolled to his side, pulling Wanda to face him and wiped smudged black eyeliner from her cheek as they both fought to catch their breath. She opened her eyes and stared at him, a sated and mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“So, same time next week?”

He pulled her closer and kissed her shoulder. “Same time tomorrow.”


End file.
